


It Had To Start Somewhere.

by AkiRah



Series: Hold The Sky [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Close to Canon, Day to day life interrupted by Jowan being a fucking blood mage, F/M, Gen, Hold The Sky AU, Mages and Templars, Surana/Cullen pre-relationship, Surana/Jowan Friendship, The Magi Origin, Very small mages doing very small things, pre-game, things are awkward in Kinloch hold a lot of the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At age seven Neria Surana manifested magic on accident and was taken and shut up in Kinloch Hold with the other mages in Ferelden. At age 19, Surana will be recruited into the Grey Wardens, but too much happens in twelve years to just easily be skipped over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From One Cage To A Taller One

**Author's Note:**

> This AU will span the entirety of Dragon Age, from the Magi origins to the end of Inquisition. It will include some, but not all of the DLC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm editing and reworking this fic. Sorry for any confusion!

_\--9:18 Dragon_

Neria Surana, age seven, had only had ever known the unscaleable walls of the Monastery. They loomed above her, made of sturdy red bricks and hanging with vines. Protective, safe, somehow restrictive. 

Like the lay sisters and the revered mother and the Knight-Captain. Like the other children, she would be a templar when she was old enough. _Unlike_ some of the other children, any questions she thought to ask about her parents were quickly silenced. It didn’t much matter anyway. She was an elvhen orphan amidst other orphans, some elvhen, some human, none with her fire bright red hair. 

And she would be a templar when she was strong enough and old enough. 

Until then, Neria spent most of her time in the library. The Chant of Light taught that “a learned child is a blessing upon her parents” and despite Neria not having any parents to be a blessing upon, the Chantry took education very seriously. They were going to be templars if they had the temperament and the will to serve the Maker. The Chantry was both mother and father and she would be a blessing upon it. 

Being seven, Neria was fairly certain the Maker was an invisible man who loved them and did nice things if you were good. Similarly, naughty children who disobeyed the chant were eaten by Darkspawn, some sort of monster that hid in the corners of the big room they all slept in and waited to pounce if you left your feet sticking out from under the blanket.

Sometimes, Neria would plead and promise and eventually Sister Catherine would agree to let her stay up an extra thirty minutes on account of good behavior. These precious thirty minutes were spent in the library, nestled up on one of the high chairs with her feet tucked up beneath her (because darkspawn) and her mind enraptured by _The Black Fox_ or _The Silver Knight_ , the stories so loved and so memorized that she no longer had to ask what the big words meant. 

It was nearing the end of her extra time and the small candle she’d been given was burning down. One of the templars, Ser Bertrand, peeked into the room to investigate the flickering candlelight and graced her with a small smile. He was her favorite. Ser Bertrand would read to her and the others on occasion, but other than that he was quiet and kept to himself. According to conversations Neria had (mostly) accidentally eavesdropped on, Ser Bertrand was assigned to watch the monastery’s children because a fight with a maleficar had left his eyes bad.

“Maleficar.” It was practically a swear in the chantry. The older children sometimes giggled at it the same way they giggled at the word “fuck”.

Neria didn’t quite get the humor, but it made the lay sisters angry. In her dreams she had asked one of the small cats who visited her about it and they warned her that a maleficar was a mage who used their blood to make magic that hurt people. 

Neria wasn’t sure why that elicited giggles, but maybe other children didn’t speak with dream cats.

There were dangers to leaving the window open. A gust blew in and blew Neria’s candle out. She squeaked in surprise and alarm, instinctively thrusting one small hand out at the candle, as though she could somehow relight it by wishing.

Fire flew from the tips of her tiny fingers. Heat touched her cheeks and she screamed, falling backwards off her tall chair while she tried to scramble back away from the flames. They licked at the wooden window frame and climbed the curtains, turning the chantry sun fiery and filling the room with smoke. Neria heard a shout behind her and turned her head in time to see Ser Bertrand lunging towards her.

“He--” the last syllable of the word help died on her lips. Something she couldn’t see was suffocating her. She screamed again, this time more with pain than surprise. She screwed her eyes closed and felt thick blackness thump against them. She threw up, slick acrid bile splashing from her lips and down her front. There was a sizzle. More smoke. The crackling of the fire died out. She could breathe.

Rough hands grabbed her by her upper arms and jerked her upright. Ser Bertrand hauled her up to his face and what she saw in his clouded eyes frightened her. He was angry with her. She’d never seen him angry. His voice shook, higher than usual. “Mage!” He carried her out of the room away from her book and her extinguished candle.

“I di--didn’t mean to!” Neria tried to explain, starting to cry. “I didn’t know! I won’t do it again! I’m sorry!”

“Ser Bertrand!” The high angry voice of Sister Catherine broke through Neria’s panicked crying. She was lifted away from Bertrand and curled her arms around herself, feeling the vomit stick to them. She sobbed harder.

“You’ve terrified the poor thing.”

“She’s a mage.”

“Yes, Ser Bertrand. I had gathered as much. She is also a child and as such I doubt an area cleanse was necessary.”

“Coulda burned the whole chapel down, Sister.”

Catherine huffed. “I can appreciate your concerns, Ser Bertrand, but this was not the way to handle them. Please go inform Revered Mother Rosa that I will be taking Neria to the Circle immediately and she should write First Enchanter Irving so our arrival is not a surprise.

“I dun wanna go,” Neria sobbed. She fidgeted and lifted her tear-streaked face to look at Sister Catherine. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“Ssh,” Sister Catherine set her down and glared at Bertrand until he left to do her bidding. “It’s not a choice. You’re a mage and all mages belong in the tower. You remember what the Chant says about magic.”

Neria took a breath and recited, “Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul an’ corrupt are they who took--”

“--have taken.”

“Have taken His gift and turned it against His children.” She twisted her fingers together and looked at the floor, unwilling to continue.

“And?”

“And they shall be named . . . Maleficar, accursed-ed ones. They shall find no rest in this world.” Neria looked up, practically begging not to be made to finish. Sister Catherine would not be dissuaded. Neria bit down on her lower lip and mumbled, “or beyond.” She swallowed and looked up again. “But I don’t want to be a mage!”

“I know darling, I know. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

* * *

Neria would not look at the tower. She looked at her feet the whole boat trip. She’d heard the other children talking about what happened to naughty kids who became mages. You lived your whole life in a tower like the damsel in some fairy tale but no one could save you because you were there so the templars could protect _normal_ people.

Only bad kids became mages.

That was stupid and she had always thought it was stupid.

But here she was. She had almost burned the chapel down (definitely naughty) and now she was a mage. 

The letter had arrived before them. Two old men were waiting in the foyer for Neria and Sister Catherine. The first was clearly a templar (he was in the armor) and the other was probably a mage (he was in a dress). They were both very tall and looked very serious and Neria only resisted the urge to hide behind Sister Catherine because she was still mad about being betrayed and left here.

The mage knelt down so he was eye level with her. He gave her a smile, warm and understanding. Neria looked at his face and back at the floor, twisting her fingers together. He had a kind face but . . . so had Ser Bertrand. 

But Ser Bertrand hadn’t been a mage. And this man _was_ a mage. And Neria was . . . apparently . . . a mage. 

“You must be Neria Surana.”

Neria nodded.

“I’m First Enchanter Irving, I’m in charge of the mages here.”

Another nod.

“This is Knight-Commander Greagoir, he’s in charge of the templars.” 

Neria managed a curtsey. First Enchanter Irving huffed a dry laugh. “Would you like to say goodbye to the Sister before we get you settled in?”

Neria looked up and squared her tiny shoulders. She turned and looked at Sister Catherine and mustered up every last ounce of willpower to choke back her tears. “Goodbye Sister Catherine.”

Sister Catherine gave her a sad smile. “Goodbye Neria. Maker keep you.”

The doors closed with an almost deafening crash and Neria felt herself starting to cry again. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t even want to be a mage. The First Enchanter gently set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Neria. This is going to be your home now.”

She sniffed.

“Irving,” the knight-commander huffed. “Take her to the dam--the library. The Revered Mother’s note mentioned the library for Maker’s sake.”

Neria wiped her nose with her wrist, looked up and the Knight-commander crossed his arms over his chest.

Irving straightened, his smile still fond, though a little exasperated when he looked over at the Knight-Commander. “Yes. Thank you Greagoir, I was getting to that.”

“Hrmph.”

“Don’t mind him, he dislikes be jolted awake.” Irving waved one hand dismissively. “He’s not so bad. Now, would you like to see our library, Neria?”

She nodded cautiously. Irving gave her a smile and gestured with for her to follow him through the huge stone doors. “These are the apprentice quarters, where you’ll be staying. The children’s wing is just over there, until you’re older and move into the teenaged and adult quarters.”

“How old is that?”

“Usually about thirteen, old enough that we start thinking it’s a good idea to separate the boys and the girls.”

“Why?”

Irving chuckled. “You’ll understand when you’re about thirteen.”

She frowned at that because there was no reason she couldn’t understand now, she wasn’t a baby.

“We had another new face arrive just the other week,” Irving continued. “Perhaps he will show you around.” He paused as they reached the library and turned to appraise her reaction.

There were more books in this one room than she had ever seen before. Neria’s mouth opened with surprised delight and all of her misery at being abandoned here was lost for a moment. It would be back. She forgot about not wanting to be a mage and about all the other unhappy things because the candles flickered bright enough to be day time even though it was night and there were shelves and shelves of stories.

“Do you have The Adventures of The Black Fox?” She wiggled with impatience.

Irving nodded. “Yes, of course. Perhaps Jowan can help you find it while I make the preparations for your phylactery.”

“Phil-act-tree?? Jowan?”

“You’ll see shortly.”

Neria nodded, recognizing when to stop asking. She would trust that he _meant_ that he would explain shortly. 

“Jowan is the other new face I mentioned, he’s about your age,” Irving explained. He had a voice well suited for it. It reminded Neria of one of the chanters at the monastery, she’d never gotten his name because he wouldn’t tell her. Like _all_ Chanters, he just quoted the chant. Which was a little frustrating really.

“Jowan! Ah, Jowan, there you are, I’d hoped to find you here.” Irving addressed a small human boy in robes that didn’t quite fit with short black hair that hung in sloppy bangs in front of his face. His eyes were red rimmed and despite being both taller and broader than Neria, she immediately assumed that he was much smaller than she was.

“Yes?” Jowan asked sulkily.

“I want you to meet Neria, she just came to live here.”

Neria gave a very small wave.

“Perhaps you can show her around the library?”

Jowan gave her a look and then looked up at Irving and nodding. “I can do that.”

“You two keep an eye on each other while I go talk to Greagoir.” Irving smiled at the both and, for Neria’s benefit added.

Irving left the two children to themselves. They weren’t really alone, Neria knew. There were other adults, _other mages_ , moving around the library looking for things. She swallowed and put on what she hoped was a brave face for the boy in front of her and _hoped_ that they were going to be friends. She needed a friend and, since he’d been crying, it stood to reason he needed one too.

“Have you read _The Adventures of The Black Fox_?” she asked.

Jowan shook his head. “‘m still learning.”

“It’s my favorite. Let’s try and find it and I’ll read it to you.” She wiggled her fingers for his and smiled when Jowan took her hand. “I’ll teach you.”

* * *

“Hold still.” The command was direct and Neria struggled to obey. Not that she had much of a choice. She trembled with fear and looked away from the knife and up at Irving, silently pleading with him to let her go. Irving’s expression was apologetic, but the templar pressed the knife into her arm anyway, just above the elbow. Neria whimpered. The edge was razor sharp to minimize the pain, but pain there was.

“You’re doing fine, Neria.” Irving promised. He numbed her arm and she watched, mesmerized and horrified as bright red blood dribbled down into the small glass vial with her name on it. “You’re doing fine.”

She whimpered again.

Soft green magic closed the cut on her arm and the templar who had bled her wiped the red off the outside of the glass.

“What’s it for?” Neria asked, covering pain with curiosity.

“In case you get lost,” Irving with a smile that sat badly on his face. “We wouldn’t want that.” He took it and muttered something she couldn’t understand. “Here, see what happens when you touch it?” 

The glass glowed when she poked it. 

“That’s . . . that’s really amazing.”

* * *

Weeks and then months and three years passed and slowly Neria started to adjust. Irving took her under his wing when he could. She read to Jowan and talked to the other apprentices when they weren’t studying. 

But they were _usually_ studying.

Being a mage, she started to learn, wasn’t a curse. It was just how she was. It was actually kind of fun and she learned to enjoy the art. She was taught to be wary of the things in her dreams because, as one of the Enchanters explained, some of the things that spoke to her were probably benevolent spirits of the fade minding their own business but others were certainly demons who would possess her and turn her into an abomination. She should trust no one in her dreams. 

It was a frightening concept, but when he explained it (simple and straightforward with actual solutions) if felt more like he was just trying to protect her and less like the chantry sisters warning her away from being naughty.

There were templars. More templars and none of them were quite like Ser Bertrand had been. These were mostly younger men and women--fighters in their prime--most of whom viewed the mages with suspicion and open dislike from behind the slits in their helmets. Always the observant child, Neria learned from her elders to be cautious of, and even fearful around some of, the templars.

Knight-Commander Greagoir was alright unless you caught his ire and attention. She avoided both. The memory of the cleanse Ser Bertrand had dropped on her was still vivid and she was eager to avoid giving any of the templars in the tower the excuse.

She was most afraid, however, of the tranquil. She first ventured to the stock room when she was ten with Jowan and met the friendly tranquil in charge. He was tall and his expression was empty. He spoke monotonously, polite and helpful and the way he looked passed her struck her to the bone. Tranquil were _actually_ what happened when a mage was naughty or weak. 

Irving explained to her that the tranquil were harmless and a Junior Enchanter (Uldred, he was up for Senior Enchanter one of these years) scoffed that that was the point. Mages were made tranquil, cut off from the fade and therefore their magic, when the tower was concerned that they could not resist the temptations of demons or blood magic. It made them safe, but it cost them their dreams and their emotions.

“Makes them quite efficient at working enchantments, of course,” Uldred huffed. Irving glared at him, but Uldred continued undaunted. “Makes you wonder why they let any of us maintain ourselves.”

One of the other Enchanters, and elf by the last name of Crane, pinched the bridge of his bent nose and turned away from Jowan and Neria to face Uldred. “Perhaps,” he growled. “This conversation would be better had amidst the other enchanters, Uldred, and not the blighted apprentices.”

“They’ll learn eventually. At least as long as we’re under the chantry’s thumb.”

“And if the circles removed themselves entirely from society none of this would be a discussion. There would be no need for the tranquil if we were far enough removed to keep from being a danger to normal people.”

Neria looked at Jowan and shrugged as the adults fell to bickering. Jowan watched Uldred with thinly veiled fascination for a moment and then turned his attention back to her. “We should go,” he said. “We’ve probably got studying to do while they argue.”

Neria nodded and tucked her long red hair back behind her pointed ears with both hands. She raised her chin and her voice, clearing her throat to get the enchanters’ attention. Both adults stopped their arguing long enough to acknowledge her. “Jowan and I are going to head back downstairs to the library. Okay?”

Crane nodded, smiling apologetically at her. “Yes, of course.”

“Good evening.” Uldred waved by lifting his fingers off his elbow, arms still crossed.

Neria wiggled her fingers at Jowan, but they didn’t touch as they exited the room and started the long, circular walk back down to the first floor and the apprentice quarters. “Do you think they’ll make us tranquil?” Jowan asked as they walked down the stairs.

Neria fiddled with her hair.

“They only do it to mages who fail their Harrowing.”

“What is the Harrowing? When do we know if we’ve failed or not?”

“I . . .” Neria frowned, stopping where she stood and starting to braid her hair while she thought. “I’m not sure. I think they’ll tell us. And I don’t think we take it until we’re older. I’ve tried asking and . . . well, no one will tell me anything about it. The name is pretty scary though.” She gave Jowan an imploring look and he rolled his eyes. With Jowan holding her braid to keep it in place Neria tore a string off her robes and tied the braid in place. “Thanks.”

“You should ask someone to bring you a ribbon next time they leave the tower.”

“Do you think anyone would bring me one?”

“If you asked, probably.”

Neria hummed thoughtfully and started back down the stairs. “Maybe I will.”


	2. New Faces Are Always Worth Investigating.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Cullen Rutherford and an inconvenient sexual awakening.

\-- _9:28 Dragon_

At seventeen years old, the Circle had become Neria’s entire world. She knew every nook and cranny apprentices were allowed in, and some they weren’t. She’d almost mastered the art of blending in with the bookshelves when templar eyes were wandering and could pick up on a bad mood the way a cat could pick up thunderstorms. But even when she was allowed outside, (a privilege recently lost after another apprentice’s poorly thought out escape attempt) she only had the vaguest memories of a life before the tower. A monastery and a suffocating blackness of the first (but not last) area cleanse she’d been hit with. Beyond the island’s edge there was nothing she could picture and yet everything she desired.

She had never ridden a horse or been even as far as Redcliffe. She’d never stood in the rain, though she’d felt it often on her fingers. But she clung to the hope that that would change someday. She would become a proper mage and then she would be allowed to travel, at least a little. Irving often commented on how clever and bright she was, so it couldn’t be long now.

She couldn’t quite shake a little fear of the Harrowing. She’d seen what happened to mages who failed. Old friends were made tranquil or vanished, killed in the mysterious trials. The mages who passed were different for a little while. Shaken, but clearly relieved.

She would be one of those she was certain. As would Jowan.

Neria padded on quiet feet to the library, the one place she was almost always guaranteed to be left alone. One of the templars, an oaf by the name of Breckan, had taken to calling her ‘knife-ear’ after she rejected his advances.

Breckan was a cretin and an ass, but he wasn’t dangerous the way some templars had been dangerous. Irving and Greagoir did what they could about templars who pushed their authority too far. Abuses happened, but if reported they were investigated.

Better here than another circle. She had _heard_ about Kirkwall or Ostwick. It was safer here, with _their_ Knight-Commander. Greagoir didn’t _hate_ mages. The job of a templar, he said, was to protect the mages. If a templar became a danger, that templar would be removed from his post. It was a nice sentiment, if less functional in practice. Still, if Breckan kept harassing her she’d report him to Irving, but until things got bad, it wasn’t worth drawing more attention to herself. The last thing she wanted was to be labeled a “trouble-maker” by the templars. At least not while hiding was an option.

There was a new face in the library. Tilted up and scanning the shelves. New faces were always worth investigating. He was tall, even for a human (she was short for an elf) and maybe a little older than her with broad shoulders and curly hair and, being seventeen, she immediately thought he was very handsome. Handsome was not even half as important as the face that he was new and wearing a simple linen tunic and trousers instead of templar armor. Templars were always armed and armored when downstairs near the mages unless they were at dinner. 

And sometimes even then. 

Her heart warmed towards him on these limited facts alone. She wondered if he was a transfer or maybe a recently captured apostate. Either way, he’d need someone to show him around and Neria hungered for new people to talk to, new stories. “Excuse me?”

He startled and whirled around and Neria made certain she was smiling as comfortingly as she was able when he finally looked down to her. She couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled out of her mouth at how obviously taken by surprise he was.

“Um. Yes?”

“I’ve never seen you before, are you a new transfer from Jainen? I’m Neria Surana.” She touched her chest in greeting. New transfers always had a hard time because there was always the question of why they were shuffled off. “If you need anythi--” She cut herself off. He wasn’t a mage. He didn’t have the haunted, sad look of someone fresh caught or being transferred and he was too old to just be a new apprentice. Neria’s expression fell and she immediately reminded herself that this wasn’t a betrayal because she had just assumed and she needed to not. “Sorry, I thought . . . you must be the new templar. Sorry. Shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“I am, yes.” The new templar tried to puff himself up and then he faltered. The effect was endearing, to Neria’s vague annoyance. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I hope so, anyway. I haven’t taken my vows yet. Knight-Commander Greagoir asked to see me. I’m Cullen. Er. Rutherford.”

Er was either the dumbest middle name she’d ever heard, or Cullen Rutherford was probably too awkward to be a templar. Too cute. 

She refused to let herself linger on that train of thought and reached up to fidget with her braid. “Ah. Well, welcome to the Circle.” The forced politeness strained against her tongue and Cullen’s expression softened to concern.

“I’ve,” Rutherford exhaled. He dropped his hand from his neck to his side. “Actually gotten a little lost.”

Neria stared at him and tried not to huff with exasperated laughter. “It’s a circle.”

“It’s a da--er . . . confusing. . . Circle.”

“I actually had the same problem when I was brought here.” Neria flicked her braid back over her shoulder and, in a display of tact, didn’t mention that she had been seven at the time. “I don’t have any classes for a little while. I can take you where you need to be, if you’d like.”

Templar or no, he was still new.

“Are you allowed?”

She would have snapped at him but Cullen had his hands up and was already starting to try and backtrack. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just, I’m not sure what’s appropriate! I don’t want you to get in trouble.” He lowered his hands. “I don’t want to get in trouble either, actually.”

Neria shrugged. “It should be fine, and it’s better than you being late.” As long as they didn’t touch each other or look to friendly or _breathe_ to quickly there shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, he wasn’t even really a templar yet and she was just an apprentice. It barely counted. 

And she hungered for new faces. New stories. 

“I . . .then yes, thank you.” Cullen tilted his head back to admire the shelves and she felt a deep kinship as he exhaled delight. “The library is really amazing.”

“Isn’t it?” She bit down on her smile to keep it in check. “The histories are amazing and we have so many of them.”

“I assumed that the Circle would mostly have books on, well, magic.”

“We do. But we’ve also got books on everything else.” She folded her hands in front of her as Cullen fell into step with her, heading through the library and up the stairs. “The general consensus is that bored mages are more likely to pull on their leashes. At least that’s how Irving phrases it.”

“Irving? You’re on first name basis with the First Enchanter?”

“Yes. He’s my mentor and there’s . . . really no good reason to stand on ceremony.”

“Ah.” Cullen smiled at her. “Please continue.”

* * *

“Are Senior Enchanter Uldred’s extra lessons at all interesting?” Neria asked, raising an eyebrow as Jowan walked into the girl’s dorm. The fact that there were technically different quarters for male and female apprentices seemed to be little more than a small nod towards the Chantry. No one seemed to care one way or another when anyone slept. So long as one slept alone. 

Discretion was valued above almost any other virtue by the mages. 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at them.”

“They are. Though we didn’t do much last time.” Jowan settled on the floor beside her bed. Neria swung her legs over the side and waited for him to continue before prompting him with a small shove.

“Didn’t do much?”

“We talked about Circle politics. I think the libertarians have a point but . . . I don’t know. It’s not right that we’re kept here like . . .”

“Explosives?” Neria finished. “We almost are. I think it was explained best when . . . was it Wynne? Wynne pointed out that mages are dangerous. We need the Circle to protect ourselves as much as to protect other people. The isolationist view that we just . . . leave makes some sense but at least this way the _chance_ exists to be around other people.”

Jowan huffed. “If you’re one of the Formari.”

“Or a court enchanter. Or needed.”

“I just don’t think it’s right. We’re not even supposed to fall in--” he sighed, “nevermind.”

“Well, you seem more down than usual.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Neria studied him for a moment, but let the matter drop. If it was serious it would come up later. The Circle was too small for anyone to run away from anyone else’s problems.

“New templar today,” Jowan said, his head resting against the wall. “Maybe more than one.”

Neria snorted and finished braiding her hair. Her fingers moved automatically, tugging red strands tight and then carefully tying it back with the ribbon she had pleaded with the court enchanter for the last time he had left the tower to go to Denerim on business. “I thought we just got new templars. What with . . . Andraste’s tits, what was his name? Carroll?”

Jowan shrugged and Neria guessed he couldn’t remember the new templar’s name either. After a while they ran together, a conglomeration of armed and armored statues with suspicious faces hidden behind helmet slots. A templar who made themselves notable was usually someone to avoid. “That’s just what I heard.” Jowan reached over and flicked the end of her braid playfully. “I think some of the girls were giggling about him. I guess he’s handsome?”

“Ugh.” Neria rolled her eyes. “Any new face is “handsome” merely on merit of being new.” Her thoughts strayed six months back to the templar-recruit in the library and she pushed it away. “My only hope is that he’s better than bloody Breckan.”

“Is he . . . ?”

“He was.” She sighed. “But I finally spoke to Irving, I think they’re transferring him to Jainen.” She tugged the ribbon tight to make sure it wouldn’t slide out. “I’d feel bad about hoisting him off on someone else but--”

“--you’ve gotta look after yourself.”

“Exactly.” She stood up and stretched, smoothing her robes and tossing her braid back so it smacked against her shoulders. “Anyway, I’ve got an hour or two until Theory, I’m going to hit the books. You coming?”

“N-nah.” Jowan gave her a distracted smile. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

“Alright, see you later.”

It was a quick jaunt from the boarding room to the library, and Neria never took it leisurely. Once she’d found the right section, she scaled the ladder and plucked a history from its place. She turned carefully to sit on the rung, feet hooked below another, and opened to the most interesting chapter.

Movement caught her attention and she looked over the edge of her book and spotted blond curls that, after six months should not have seemed so familiar. A smile warmed on her features. She wasn’t about to admit it to Jowan, but she had hoped.

It was almost disheartening to see how well the armor fit him. He looked like templars should look (if one _only_ read about them).

“Templar Rutherford. Been a while.” She knew she was blushing. Why was she blushing? He was handsome but, as she’d pointed out to Jowan, that was only because he was a new face.

“It has.” He gave her a smile, a dusting of red on his cheeks. “Still haunting the histories, Apprentice Surana?”

She closed the book and slid down the ladder, almost catching her foot in her robes and tripping forward as she said “Always”. She managed to catch her balance before she went face-first into the floor. Embarrassed, she threw her head back and squared her shoulders, swallowing and hoping he wouldn’t see through her clearly feigned nonchalance. “Well, congratulations. I suppose.”

He was so tall.

“You suppose?”

She tossed her braid back over her shoulder and huffed a little. But she couldn’t hide the smile. “Fine. I’m glad you were assigned here instead of Jainen. Don’t expect me to admit it again.”

Cullen chuckled, dropped his head a little, smile brightening his face and the whole room around him. “Of course not.”

She linked her fingers in front of her and Cullen ran a hand over the back of his neck. It wouldn’t last, this pleasant awkwardness. In a moment he would remember that he was a templar and that she was a terrifying mage and get defensive.

Strangely. The moment didn’t come. Cullen cleared his throat and met her eyes for the briefest second. “Do you, ah, do you enjoy chess?”

“I . . .” Neria blinked. “I’ve never . . . huh.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve never played. You’d think I would have but . . . I don’t think I know how.”

Cullen’s smile dropped half an inch and Neria forced herself not to move forward to set her hand on his arm. Instead her smile brightened and she shrugged one shoulder. “Teach me.”

* * *

Weeks passed, a routine of days broken up now by a chess game. The rules were simple enough, if only because Neria asked Irving and he played a game with her one afternoon.

She and Cullen couldn’t play together, as there was supposed to be emotional and physical distance between Templar and Mage, but they set up the board and took turns when they were able.

It was different. 

It was fun.

Neria was always a little reckless with the library ladder, but it was usually fine. She scaled to one of the highest shelves and ran her finger over the old spines while she hunted for the book she wanted, and realized she wasn’t in the right spot.

But the right spot was close.

She grabbed the edges of the ladder and threw her weight to the right. The ladder started moving at surprising speed and then stopped too suddenly for her to adjust her grip. Neria managed half a scream as the ground flew towards her. She heard something clatter to the floor.

A moment later she was in someone’s arms.

“Maker, Neria.” Cullen growled in her ear. The vibrations tickled pleasantly and helped to nullify some of the panic.

Neria nodded in silent thanks, beet red and feeling unsteady as he set her back on solid ground. Shaking, she put her hand on her chest and felt her heart hammering. “Th--thanks.” She almost couldn’t breathe. “I thought I was going to die.” She kept a hand on his arm to steady herself.

“You almost did.” Cullen pulled away, just as red as she was. He stooped to pick up the scattered chess pieces. Neria knelt to help, mumbling quick apologies under her breath in hopes that no one would hear them. They’d have to start again.

The board set back on its stand and the pieces in starting position, Neria straightened and reached up to her braid. To the little ribbon, blue and silver, that was her only personal item. Her thumb pressed over the small raised moon stitched into the silk and her eyes followed Cullen’s. She beamed at him, red faced and breathless and grateful that her brains weren’t spattered all over the library floor. 

Neria pulled her hair ribbon loose, and decided that she could always get another and that she could tear off a strip from her robes until then. She left the ribbon in his hand as discreetly as she could, looping it carefully between his fingers where it wouldn’t fall. Then she hurried away in hopes that no one would notice. Her hair started to unweave itself and by the time she flung herself onto her bed it was loose and wavy.

She squeezed her eyes closed and bit down on her lower lip before she could start giggling. He’d caught her. He cared.

* * *

She hadn’t really daydreamed about life outside the tower before Cullen was stationed there. Kinloch had been her whole world since she was seven, everything there was encompassed in endless stone walls and the view of the lake from the high windows.

Now, however, Neria caught herself thinking about a life far away.

Somewhere where small touches weren’t frowned upon and the act of just . . . hugging . . . wouldn’t have been tantamount to rebellion. Where she could sit with him and knock out a single chess game in less than a day. The time taken between turns was nice in its way, but the idea of making conversation while they played was as rich a fantasy as pinning his hips to a wall and breaking all his templar vows like twigs in her fingers.

Weeks passed.

She watched him train in the yard from a vantage point near a window and felt a small, warm growl in her stomach when he tugged his sweat-stained tunic off. How warm would he be against her? How soft were those curls?

All of it utterly inappropriate.

And inappropriate thoughts to distract herself during the dull dark hours would have been fine but he was also charming and kind and far more clever than he sometimes seemed. He taught her to play chess little by little and his moves were daring and difficult to counter, but she learned each time she lost. He left books by the board, dog-eared to passages he thought she’d like and he was almost always right.

And his smirk. His infuriating “got you now” smirk that was too soft and too teasing when paired with his brown eyes. She imagined that smirk pressed to the hollow of her throat, to her belly and inner thighs. Drinking in low groans in some dark corner.

The other apprentices gossiped about him, commenting on how he watched her and Neria wasn’t sure if they were lying to get a rise out of her, lying to get him in trouble or just telling the truth.

At the end of the day it didn’t really matter because he was a _proper_ templar _and_ very concerned about what was or was not appropriate. But she stared up at the ceiling, one hand concealed beneath her covers and the other gripping her pillow, knowing that the templar barracks were only two floors above her, and she hoped it was true.


	3. A Suicide and The First Whispers of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana witnesses a suicide and hears the first whispers of an oncoming Blight.

_\--9:30 Dragon_

She wished she’d been able to scream, but her muscles were constricted--frozen--as Fennik paralyzed her, the last spell he would ever cast. She watched, unable to turn her face away or beg him to stop as he threw himself from the window. She couldn’t really breathe, but she was horrified to discover that she could still cry. The tears were leaking out of her eyes when the shouting started. A moment later and her muscles twitched as the spell wore off.

“What’s happened!”

She turned, tears streaming down her face and pointed to the window as Knight-Commander Greagoir threw the door open.

“F-f-f-fennik,” Neria whimpered, wishing that it had been anyone else. “He jumped.” The only windows in the Tower were high enough to make jumping a universally bad idea.

“How did he get up there?”

“The. . .I don’t . . . I don’t know. . . He . . . I was paralyzed.”

“Figuratively or--”

“Greagoir!” Irving’s voice was not built for shouting and Neria’s eyes went even wider. “Apprentice Neria is freshly traumatized. Now is not the time.”

Greagoir faltered for the first time in Neria’s life. He cleared his throat. “Right. Irving, take the apprentice to your office. Carroll, Bran, I want you two to go outside and collect the body. Someone tell the Revered mother that we’ll need a service tonight.”

“Are you alright?” Irving asked quietly as he lead her out of the room and towards the stairs away from the chaos. Her legs felt wooden and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Irving didn’t press. He lead her to his office where he made her a cup of cocoa and set her in a chair.

“Do you know why Fennik leapt?”

“He. . . he said you were going to make him tranquil.” She bit down on her lower lip. “He’s been . . . I know he was . . .”

“He was what?”

“Angry.” Neria pressed the heel of her hand into her eye, trying to dam the tears. “H-he was angry.”

“We do not make apprentices tranquil for being angry, Neria.” Irving said gently. “Where you two close?”

She shook her head automatically. Being close to anyone was a danger. Irving raised his eyebrows expectantly and she slumped, but shook her head again. “We knew each other. We weren’t close. I was . . . I don’t even know how he got up there.”

Irving sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Do you have someone you can talk to, Neria?”

“I do,” she replied, thinking immediately of Cullen and then forcing her thoughts to Jowan who was her friend and also an apprentice. She could talk to Jowan.

* * *

Neria’s feet felt like lead as she let Jowan lead her to the small service being held for Fennik in the Chantry. It wasn’t the first or even fifth such service she’d attended. People died.

But it was the first time she’d seen it first hand. The first time she had been the last person to see someone before they died. It had shaken her to the core. She had known Fennik and all she knew about why he was dead is that someone, some templar had lied to him about becoming tranquil and that Fennik had wanted to die as himself.

She want to squeeze Jowan’s hand as the hymn started, but she couldn’t. Instead she clenched her fingers to fists and stared at the chantry floor. Fennik was being cremated outside, but they couldn’t stand around his pyre. The risk of escapees was too great.

The hymn itself was beautiful. She picked up Cullen’s voice and clung to it like a life raft. Clung to it the way she couldn’t cling to Jowan’s arm. She sang quietly and prayed that Fennik was better off now than he had been.

The service ended and the mourners returned to their business.

“Are you alright?” Jowan asked. Neria forced a nod, unable to smile or speak for fear that the tears would start again. “Going to pray for a bit?”

She nodded again.

Jowan squeezed her shoulder once and she closed her eyes as he left before she went to kneel in front of one of the more secluded statues of Andraste. She watched the light from the candles flicker at Andraste’s feet, all to similar to the flames that had devoured the Lady.

The tower started to fall asleep, the lights in the hallway dimming. No one came to move her, and so Neria sat at Andraste’s feet for more than an hour, feeling hollow and empty, trying to latch onto thoughts of any sort that would make what had happened seem less serene.

And she watched the candles.

Andraste had died in pain, burned alive.

To honor her with fire seemed cruel.

But life was cruel.

Neria bent her head. “Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.” The words felt dead on her tongue and she searched for the will to continue speaking.

Armor jangled behind her as someone knelt at her side and said in Cullen’s voice, “rest at the Maker’s right hand, and be forgiven.”

Neria opened her eyes and looked over at him, ashamed of the red rings around her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said softly. He lowered his hands from where they were clasped in front of him and the knuckle of his gauntlet brushed hers. “If there’s anythi--”

“He was worried that they were going to make him Tranquil,” Neria interrupted. “A templar lied to him.”

“Do you know who? I can talk to Knight-Comm--”

Neria shook her head, braid thumping into the wall. “No, it’s, it won’t change anything.” She used the wall to bring herself to standing. “You should be in bed, Rutherford. You’re not on duty right now.”

Cullen’s smile was so small it broke her heart. He looked around, making sure they were alone and reached to cradle her cheek. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She froze when he touched her, eyes wide and worried. But the world didn’t end. She closed her eyes and leaned against his hand, the leather was worn and soft, sweet smelling. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you, Cullen.”

“Neria I--”

She wanted those words, but for his sake, she couldn’t hear them. “Should go to bed?” she suggested. “Me too. I’ll take my turn before breakfast so you have something to look forward to.”

Cullen pulled away and nodded. “Yes. Thank you. I. I should sleep.”

* * *

Life went on.

Gossip went on.

Neria heard from one of the other templar recruits that it was Cullen’s birthday. It was strange to think that it had only been a year since she congratulated him on joining the templars. It felt longer.

But when everyday felt the same, she supposed that made sense.

There was no way to make him a gift and no way to give him one even if she’d been able to manage the creation. Templars weren’t allowed to have things and she’d already given him the only personal item she owned.

But she could make sure he knew that she knew and that she was pleased about it. Neria nicked a pen and a piece of paper and left the small note tucked under his side of the chessboard before taking her turn.

> Happy Birthday Rutherford.
> 
> S.

Later she returned to the board and found that Cullen had taken her fucking rook to put her in check the bastard but had left a note in exchange for hers. Heart fluttering, Neria picked it up and felt her grin disappear, replaced with a sucking void in her chest.

> Thank you. I’m not sure how you knew, but it was nice of you to say anything. Out of curiosity when’s yours?
> 
> R

It was kind of him to ask. Kind, yet bittersweet, like most things about him. Neria looked down at the note. She bit the inside of her cheek and tucked the note into her robes before heading to class. Cullen couldn’t have known that she had no real idea when her birthday was. If it had been celebrated in the monastery, she couldn’t remember.

“You seem distracted,” said Jowan at dinner. Neria looked up from her meat and shrugged. She could see Cullen looking confused and distracted and doing a terrible job of hiding it in her periphery.

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.” She looked back down to her meat. “I guess I am.”

“Why?” Jowan pressed.

Neria shrugged. “Not sure,” she lied. “Why’ve you been spending so much time in the Chantry? I’ve seen . . . less of you, lately. What’s her _naaaaaame_?” Neria teased. Jowan flushed.

The question had the desired effect and Jowan stopped asked her about her despondency. He just sighed and finished his meal before leaving. It was true though. They had spent less and less time together over the last few weeks. If it hadn’t been Jowan she might have started to worry.

But it was Jowan and he was steady and reliable, if a little spineless and easily pushed around. He’d mentioned meeting a girl but wisely wouldn’t say more than that for risk of unfriendly ears.

She stopped into the library on her way to an evening class on the primal school and tucked the note back under the chessboard for him. It was a lie, but it wasn’t a bad one.

> end of Harvestmere, I’ll be twenty.

* * *

Neria had an apple in one hand and a book in her lap, sitting close enough to where Cullen was posted to talk to him without raising suspicion. Jowan was in the Chantry, again. She would have started to worry that he was becoming something of an apologist, but in their private talks about the state of the circle he seemed to be leaning further and further into the Libertarian’s camp.

“I can’t believe you started clapping,” Neria said after she swallowed a bite of apple. Her eyes flickered up to Cullen’s and he smiled almost defiantly at her.

He was so cute when he pretended to be defiant.

“It worked, and everyone joined in. I wasn’t expecting a whole standing ovation for the poor soul.” Cullen crossed his arms and tilted his neck to emphasize the point. “But, Carroll ought to have known better than to come downstairs without his uniform.”

“Mm, particularly the pants bit.” Neria snorted a laugh. “It’s three whole floors, how did he even manage that? Maker, I thought Irving was going to keel over.”

“Really? It looked to me like he was laughing.”

“He might have had a heart attack, Rutherford!”

“He was clapping by the end.” Cullen grinned down at her before looking straight ahead like he was supposed to. “Everyone was.”

“You’re a menace and a devian--”

“Neria!”

Neria’s attention immediately flashed over to Jowan as he came running towards them. She dropped her apple and snapped the book closed. “What’s the matter?” She jumped to her feet, almost tripping over her robes as she did.

Jowan looked up at Cullen and frowned. He looked from her to the doors, clearly wanting to talk in the dormitory, but he sighed in defeat and shook his head. “They say there’s a Blight coming.”

Neria’s eyes went wide. “They what? Who says? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a messenger from the King requesting mages for the army. He’s meeting with Irving, Greagoir and the senior enchanters right now.”

“How do yo--you usually have theory with Sweeny right now. I thought it was weird that you--nevermind.” Neria exhaled. She’d read about the blight. “Well, we should be fine here, Jowan, and as apprentices I don’t think we’re eligib--wait are the templars going?”

“Maker I hop--” Jowan looked at Cullen and faltered. “I don’t know.”

Neria rolled her shoulders and then her neck. “I wouldn’t get too worked up, Jowan.”

“You’re right. I’ll. . . go . . . then.”

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Neria promised. She knelt to pick back up her book and then turned to look at Cullen. Her nails scratched over the worn cover and she reached past him to tuck it into place on the shelf. “Did you know any of that?”

“Only sort of, we found out this morning. Knight-Commander Greagoir said the volunteers had already been selected.”

“You’re not one of them?” She fixed her eyes on the bookshelf, hoping he wasn’t but being unallowed to voice that.

He shook his head and she breathed a very small sigh of relief before he kept talking. “I asked, but there’s enough to do here. The Grey Warden Commander is expected any day now, looking for recruits.”

“Recruits. . .” The word lingered on the tip of her tongue. What would that be like? Being able to leave the Circle legally. But the Wardens would only select from full mages, not apprentices, and she hadn’t had her Harrowing yet.

Also, she’d have to leave both Cullen and Jowan, and she didn’t want that. What she wanted was to tilt her face up, come up on her toes and press a soft kiss to Cullen’s mouth.

She resisted the urge.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not going. I’d be annoyed if some darkspawn ate you.”

Cullen huffed half a laugh. “As would I.” He turned at the sound of footsteps and raised an eyebrow.

“Rutherford.”

“Yes?”

“Knight-Commander Greagoir wants you in his office.”

“Of course.”

Neria watched him leave after the other templar and leaned against the bookshelf before remembering her dropped apple and stooping to dispose of it with a small, contained fire spell.


	4. Harrowing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana faces the demons of the fade, and emerges victorious.

A hand shook her shoulder and jostled her rudely out of sleep. Neria opened one eye and glared at the woman hovering over her bed with a candle. “Buh?”

“Get up,” the templar said. “It’s time.”

“Time?” Neria asked, blinking sleep out of her eyes and rolling out of bed. She grabbed underthings and a robe, stifling a yawn behind her hand. As soon as the robe was down she was hurried out of the dormitory without being given a chance to brush her hair or even grab her shoes.

The stone was icy beneath her feet and at least it woke her up.

“Where are we going?” Neria tried again as she was shooed up the stairs and through the mage quarters.

“The top.”

Neria’s blood froze with her legs and her escort actually shoved her slightly to get her moving again. She tugged a hand through her tangled red hair and pushed it back behind her pointed ears. She tried to remember everything all at once. Anything that might be useful, any scrap of gossip about The Harrowing. Anything that might keep her from failing and being made tranquil or just being killed.

She kept her head down automatically as they passed through the templar quarters, resisting the urge to look for Cullen and not wanting to make eye contact with anyone else. She looked up at the door to the Harrowing chamber and took a deep breath. She could do this. She _had_ to do this. It was now or never.

She opened the door and started up the stairs, surprised at how drafty the room was. Greagoir was there, arms crossed over his armored chest talking in low tones to Irving. Three other templars stood back. To Neria’s surprise, one of them was Cullen. His eyes went wide when he saw her and then dropped to the side. She opened her mouth to question his presence, but thought better of it when Irving turned and gave her a worn, but pleasant, smile and Greagoir actually addressed her.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,” Greagoir quoted for probably the millionth time. Neria forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Thus spoke the Prophet Andraste as she struck down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin.”

Anxious and, therefore foul tempered, Neria wanted very much to point out that she knew all this. That everyone knew all this. That this was not the time for an unnecessary history lesson. She said nothing instead and just nodded her understanding as Greagoir continued.

“Your magic is a gift, but it’s also a curse. For demons are drawn to you and seek to use you as a gateway into this world.”

Had he always talked with his hands this much? She risked a glance at Cullen and found him staring at the floor. Did every mage have to go through this explanation? 

_Maybe the explanation is the real Harrowing._

Neria looked over at Irving, who smiled and shrugged one ancient shoulder.

“This is why the Harrowing exists, the ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will.”

“Is it possible to be armed with anything else?” Neria asked. She offered an apologetic smile for the flippant comment. “Sorry, Knight-Commander.” She took a breath. “I’m ready.”

“Know this, Apprentice, if you fail, we templars will perform our duty.” Greagoir informed her. He lowered his shoulders and had the decency to look at least a little apologetic, at least. “You will die.”

Neria’s eyes darted to Cullen, more importantly to the sword on his back, bigger and heavier than the one he usually carried She swallowed. “I understand, Knight-Commander.”

Greagoir gestured to the small altar and the raw lyrium smoking slightly atop it. Neria took another breath and gave Irving a thankful smile as he squeezed her shoulder, lowering his voice so he was addressing only her when he said, “the Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, Neria. Every mage must go through this trial by fire, but as we succeeded, so shall you. Keep your wits about you and remember that the Fade is the realm of _dreams_. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real.”

“She must go through this alone, First Enchanter,” Greagoir interrupted. He looked from Irving to Neria. “You are ready.”

Strangely, having _Greagoir_ say it meant something. She had never known him to pad the truth. If he thought she could handle it, she probably could. Neria’s eyes flicked to Cullen once more and this time she was rewarded with a small, worried smile. She squared her shoulders and approached the altar, the lyrium dust filling her nose as she inhaled.

_Your Own Will Is Real_

Neria was a mage and as such she touched the Fade, consciously every night. This was different. She felt as though she was _actually_ here. Not physically, of course, but like no part of herself was rooted to the body probably lying on the floor of the Harrowing chamber. It felt strange, tingling, but not unpleasant. Neria reached up and began to braid the tangled mess of her hair so it would stay more out of her way, a nervous habit more than anything else.

She was used to the Fade mirroring the tower, this was . . . different. Rather than being colorful and more vivid and fluid than the physical plane, the fade was washed out in beige. Ruined walls littered an expanse of rocky plain and strange statues to long forgotten gods and heroes held their twisted arms aloft.

And that wasn’t important because _somewhere_ around here there was a demon she had to defeat.

“Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever,” a bitter voice said from somewhere around her bare feet as she was walking. Neria dropped her gaze and raised an eyebrow at the mouse watching her. “It isn’t right that they do this, the templars! Not to you, not to me, not to anyone!”

“If it weren’t for the fact that you appear to be a mouse I might agree with you. But right or otherwise I need to succeed.”

The mouse sighed and started to glow and grow. “It’s always the name. It’s not your fault.” The glow subsided and standing in front of her was a human male wearing apprentice robes. “Allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me, well, Mouse.”

“I take it that’s not your real name?”

Mouse shook his head and dropped his shoulders. He almost reminded her of Jowan. “No, I don’t, I don’t remember anything from before. The templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you failed and they don’t want something ‘getting out.’ That’s what they did to me.”

“You were a mage?”

“What do you think?” Mouse spat. “I have no body to reclaim and you don’t have much time before you end up the same.”

Neria frowned apologetically. She wasn’t sure she believed that, but she also wasn’t sure it mattered. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Mouse. Do you know how much time I have?”

Mouse looked at the hem of his robes and shook his head. “No, I, I don’t remember. I ran away and I hid. I don’t know how long.”

“Do you have any idea what I’m supposed to do, exactly?” Neria gestured nebulously in front of herself. “Irving said I had to defeat a demon, but, honestly, that’s not much of a hint all things considered.”

“There’s something here. Something contained just for an apprentice like you. You have the face the creature, the demon, and resist it if you can. That’s your way out, or your opponent’s, if the templars wouldn’t kill you first. It’s a test for you,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust, “and a tease for the creatures of the fade.”

Neria frowned and popped her fingers. So she had to find, then fight or otherwise best, a demon. What sort of demon? Some would be easier than others. She was confident in her ability to outthink a lot of things: rage, hunger, sloth. Pride demons were tricky and Desire demons…

She shook her head. A desire demon had the potential to be very embarrassing, but at least she would know immediately what it was. Or _would_ she. Were there other things she could be tempted by? 

“There’re other spirits here. Maybe they can tell you more.” Mouse offered a smile that didn’t inspire faith or courage. “I’ll follow you, if that’s alright. My chance was long ago.”

“Alright,” Neria said with a nod. She tore a piece of fabric off her robe and tied her hair back. “Let’s do this.” She continued the way she had been heading. The Fade, in it’s true form, was limitless, but here she knew was not. This was a contained space, it felt rather like a locked room.

“The creature is close,” Mouse said from around her feet. “Do not approach it unless you’re ready.”

“Would you like to ride on my shoulder instead of trailing after me, Mouse?”

“I . . . no, no, I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” She turned into a small cul de sac, fires burning around it’s edge and frowned.

“This is where your trial will take place. The creature could be anywhere, but it will manifest there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Neria frowned. Mouse was knowledgeable, obviously, and it might have been because he was telling the truth about being trapped. But she couldn’t be sure. This was the Fade and as such, nothing could be trusted at face value. She turned away from the fires and dodged, squeaking with surprise and alarm as a bolt of lighting was fired at her. Neria turned to face the wisp and threw her hands forward, manifesting raw magic in a bolt. The wisp vanished.

“My magic works,” Neria looked down at her fingers. “If I can find a staff I should be fine.”

“You would be a fool to just attack everything you come across.”

“Obviously, but I’d be a greater fool if I ended up dead because I didn’t defend myself. This is a trial, I should have expected some combat.” She looked around from something, a tree or what have you, that could be willed into being a staff, remembering what Irving had said about her own will being real. Instead, her eyes landed on one of the spirits Mouse had mentioned. A phantom by a forge wearing a templar’s heavy plate. She exhaled and approached it cautiously, remembering that she wasn’t defenseless, but that attacking out of the blue would have been a poor choice.

The phantom turned from its forge to address her, the empty visor tilting in greeting. “What’s this, another mortal thrown to the fire to burn I see?”

“Something like that,” Neria answered.

“Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill than to be set unarmed against a demon.”

Neria shrugged passive agreement. She didn’t exactly agree, if it were a matter of skill or strength than perhaps the armored figure would have had a point, but this was more a matter of resilience. “What manner of spirit are you?”

“I am Valor, a warrior spirit. I hone my weapons in hope of discovering the perfect expression of combat.”

Neria managed a small smile. It seemed fitting that Valor be manifest during the completion of her apprenticeship. She would certainly need all the courage she could get, though with this section of the Fade feeling as small as it was, she was a little curious as to how it had gotten there. Perhaps it was part of her test. “Can you help me at all?”

“Of course. You are hardly the first mortal to seek my aid. However I am not here to assist you. My purpose is to seek perfection, creating the ultimate weapon for the pursuit of valor.”

“Would one of these weapons work against the demon?”

“Without a doubt. In this realm everything that exists is the expression of a thought. Do you think these blades be steel? That the staves be wood? Do you believe they draw blood? A weapon is a single need for battle and my will makes that need reality.”

“So with enough time and practice I could manifest my own weapon.” Neria tapped her chin with thought.

“We don’t have time,” Mouse urged from near her feet.

“Point.” She turned her gaze to Mouse and then back to Valor. “May I borrow one of your weapons for my trial?”

“If you agree to duel me first. Valor will test your mettle as it should be tested.”

Neria looked at Mouse again and squared her shoulders, bring her hands up. “Very well, Valor. I agree to your duel.”

“What are you doin--”

“What I need to.”

“As you wish, Mortal. We battle until I am convinced you are strong enough to defeat your demon. If you do not defeat me, I will slay you.”

“Sounds fair. If I’m not strong enough to defeat the demon I’m dead one way or another anyway.”

“Very well! Our duel begins now, fight with Valor.”

Neria started to chuckle at the play on words and her distraction earned her a blow from a gauntleted hand to the side of her jaw, sending her spinning. The pain was real and it grounded her. Neria’s left fist manifested fire and sent it forward in a jet at Valor’s face. Her right fist connected in a stunning blow to the spirit’s helmet.

Silently she thanked Cullen for that little trick. No one expected to get punched in the helmet.

She juked to the left, dodging Valor’s sword and shot a bolt of raw energy into its stomach. Valor elbowed her hard in the side and the flat of its sword connected with her thigh. But Valor fought according to rules, each motion perfect and textbook and therefore predictable. Will was as much a weapon as anything else and Neria channeled hers into a shield and used it to knock Valor’s blade aside.

“Enough.” Valor brought its hands up and she could have sworn it sounded almost pleased. “Your strength is sufficient to the task. Take one of my weapons.” 

“Thank you.” Neria plucked a staff from the pile. “For the lesson and the staff.”

“I wish you a glorious victory.” Valor saluted and turned its attention back to its forge. Neria squeezed the staff in her hand and remembered what had been said. It was a need made tangible. The shaft wasn’t wooden, it was an idea made solid. The idea of a staff.

She launched an experimental bolt and it felt as natural as sending power through her fingers. Neria nodded in approval.

“You’re taking too much time,” Mouse warned again. Neria leaned on her stick and looked down at him. “The templars will kill you. They want mages to fail. They enjoy it.”

“On principle I agree with you, but you can’t lump all templars in together. Some of them are quite nice and many of them are trying to protect mages as well as the common people. I don’t approve of the system but it’s the only option.”

“You don’t want to lose yourself here. Being nothing would be kinder than this.” Mouse looked at her mournfully.

Neria’s expression softened and her heart ached. She favored the healing arts over the combative and this was the reason. She wanted to ease pain when she found it, in any way that she could. “Do you . . . do you want to die, Mouse?” She remembered Fennik as he threw himself from the window. He had been lied to, but it would have been better to die himself than be made tranquil. Perhaps losing yourself in the Fade was similar.

“I. . .” Mouse stumbled over his words and then, abruptly, his face twisted angrily. “I think your should finish your Harrowing.”

Neria narrowed her eyes at him. Suspicious, but perhaps it was a touchy subject, she could certainly see how it would be.

* * *

“There’s something else here,” Mouse spoke up as they approached a different clearing. “A demon, a powerful demon, but not the one hunting you.”

“Why would it be here?” Neria asked.

“The templars want you to fail,” Mouse reminded her. “They’ll stack everything against you.”

Neria shook her head. Cullen was one of those templars and Greagoir was many things but unfair wasn’t an adjective her thoughts automatically jumped to. There were awful templars. The average templar was awful. But it wasn’t an absolute.

She probably shouldn’t have approached the sleeping demon. Even if it had just been a bereskarn it was the sort of thing the meek and cautious avoided. But Neria needed to get out and she needed all the help she could get to do it.

The bereskarn didn’t even bother to lift its head when it addressed her. “So, you are the mortal being hunted,” it said in a slow, sleepy voice. “And the small one, is he to be a snack for me?”

“I don’t like this.” Mouse transformed into his human appearance. “He’s not going to help us. We should go.”

“I won’t let him eat you,” Neria promised.

The bereskarn stood up slowly, stretching and yawning, splaying it’s horrible yellow claws on the ground as it did. Neria kept her eyes on its face, standing between it and Mouse.

“No matter,” the bereskarn replied, seeming just as unperturbed as it had while laying. “The demon will get you eventually. Perhaps there will even be scraps left.”

“What kind of spirit are you?”

“It’s a demon.”

“Thank you, Mouse.”

“Maybe even more powerful than the one chasing after you.”

“Thank you,” Neria said again, gritting her teeth. “Mouse. That’s very reassuring.”

“Begone.” The demon-bereskarn insisted. “Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal.” It yawned and curled back up to sleep. “I tire of you, already.”

“Can you help me defeat my demon?”

“You have a very nice staff,” the disdain was palpable through the heavy sound of sleep. “Why would you need me? Go. Use your weapon. Since you have earned it. Be _Valorous_.”

“He does look powerful, it’s possible he could teach you to be like him,” Mouse whispered.

“Mmm? Like me?” There was a hint of a rolling laugh at the edge of Sloth’s words. “You mean teach the mortal to take this form? Why? Most mortals get too attached to their forms.”

“Tch. I told you he wasn’t going to help us.”

“Can you teach Mouse to be a bear?” Neria asked, unwilling to give up quite yet. “If you won’t or can’t teach me. He’s not attached to his human form.”

Mouse gave her a wide-eyed stare and Neria smiled encouragingly. It would be fine. “I . . . I don’t think I’d make a very good bear. How would I hide?”

“Hiding doesn’t solve things. We need to face our fears.”

“We?” Mouse scoffed. “I have faced more in this place than you can imagine!”

Neria put her hand on his arm. “As a bear you wouldn’t need to hide.”

“Fear is just . . . one more thing.” Mouse dropped his shoulders in defeat. “I’m sorry, you . . . you are right. Hiding doesn’t help. It’s the Fade. It changes you. I’ll try. I’ll try to be a bear.” The way he said it made her think of Jowan.

“Thank you, Mouse.”

“You wish to learn my form, little one? Very well, then I have a challenge for your friend.”

Neria squared her shoulders in anticipation of a fight, but nodded. “What is this challenge.”

“You answer three riddles correctly, and I will teach him. Fail,” Sloth yawned. “And I will devour you both.”

Neria relaxed. Riddles were easier than fighting. Irving frequently posed them to her and Jowan, sharpening the mind as part of their training and because he genuinely enjoyed them. “I agree.”

“Mmm? Truly. This gets more and more promising.” Sloth turned its snout just a little to face her, but still didn’t bother to stand. “Very well. My first riddle is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land. What am I?”

Neria ran over the clues in her head. “A map.” She said quickly.

Sloth growled in displeasure. “Correct. Let’s move on, to the second riddle. I’m rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you’ll use me well. What am I?”

This one was slightly more difficult. One touched, but did not hold handles. Intelligence wasn’t held. It might have been a sword but no. “My. . . tongue?”

Sloth growled again. “Yes. Your witty tongue. Fair enough. One more try, shall we? At night I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I’ll amuse you an entire eve but alas, you won’t remember me.”

“A dream.” Neria’s bare toes curled into the shifting dirt of the Fade. “Or dreams, if you prefer the plural.”

Sloth sighed, denied its meal but bound by its word. “Very well then. I will teach you my form.”

Neria breathed a sigh of relief and rolled her neck. A step closer to getting out of here. As nice as the change of scenery was, knowing that her body was still in danger did nothing for her nerves. She was still being hunted by her demon, though it hadn’t shown itself yet.

What if Mouse was right and there was a time limit? Would she know when Greagoir decapitated her? Would she die here or would she become like Mouse? It was terrifying to think about and she was thankful for the distraction that was Mouse’s attempt at becoming a bereskarn.

He had managed becoming a bear at least, and that was still leaps and bounds better than being a mouse. Neria smiled at him and squeeze that shaft of her staff. “Alright. I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be.”

“Good. Now leave me be. I grow weary of your mortal prattling.” Sloth went back to sleep.

Neria fought her way through the wisps as she returned to the cul de sac the demon was supposed to appear in. As if on cue the ground began to blacken and boil as a rage demon, made of magma and flame, pulled itself up to face her. Neria pointed her staff at it. A rage demon, really, was not the worst that could happen.

The demon threw its hands into the air, heat radiating from it as it started to speak, words cracking like firewood. “And so it comes to be at last! Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul.”

“If I lose, the templars will still cut you down.” Neria retorted.

“Bah! I will be stronger! Your strength and mine! They shall not defeat me.” The rage demon turned its attention to mouse and somehow managed to sneer despite not having a real face. “So, this creature is your offering, Mouse? Another plaything as per our arrangement?”

Neria didn’t take her eyes off the demon, but through her periphery she could see Mouse bury his face in his hands. She swallowed. One on one, or better yet two on one with Mouse at her side this fight would have been possible. She didn’t want to have to kill Mouse as well, particularly now that she had gone out of her way to strengthen him.

She shifted her grip on Valor’s staff and reminded herself to be brave.

“I’m not offering you anything!” Mouse lowered his hands and sounded almost defiant. “I don’t have to help you anymore!”

“Oh?” The demon scoffed. “And after all the wonderful meals we’ve shared now suddenly the mouse has changed the rules?”

“I’m not a mouse now! And soon, I won’t have to hide. I don’t need to bargain with you!”

“Thank the Maker,” Neria breathed. “I wasn’t looking forward to that.”

“We shall see.” The demon hissed and Neria shot a spike of ice at it. She dodged away from it and from Mouse, favoring to fight from a distance with ice and energy. She managed to freeze the beast briefly, and that was enough time for Mouse to slam into it with all his weight, shattering the demon who melted back into the ground.

“Yes!” Neria punched the air victoriously and let the relief wash over her. She was still in the Fade, but she had won. She had passed. She turned to look at Mouse as he shifted back to his human appearance and beamed at her.

“You did it! You actually did it! When you came I hoped that maybe you might be able to--but I never really thought any of you were worthy!”

Neria’s smile fell away. She had not passed. Not yet. The way he said “you” instead of “us” bothered her. Everything about him bothered her. There was more here than she could immediately see. “Mouse?”

“Yes?”

“The one you betrayed, what were their names?”

“What? They were not as promising as you. It was a long time ago, I don’t remember their names. I don’t remember my own name. It’s the Fade. And the templars killing me. Like they tried to do with you.”

Neria tightened her grip on her staff. “So, what do you think you can get from helping me?”

“You defeated a demon! You completed your test. In time you will become a master enchanter with no equal and,” Mouse lowered his eyes and his voice, “and maybe there’s hope in that for someone as small and as . . . forgotten as me. If you want to help.”

Crap. Killed the wrong demon. Neria bit down on the inside of her cheek and fought to keep her expression neutral. Had she failed? No. She didn’t feel dead. This was just part of the test. A separate part.

“I just need a foothold in the world outside. And you . . . you just need to want to let me in.”

Neria growled under her breath. “Let you in?”

“Back!” Mouse shouted. “Let me back! The templars killed me, just like they kill all the mages that fail. Like they want to kill you. Can’t you feel the sword at your neck? They believe all magic is evil, that the Fade is evil. And once you come here you become what they fear.”

“I’m starting to think that other demon wasn’t my test.”

Mouse’s eyes narrowed and his voice deepened and began to rattle as he stepped backwards. Neria tightened her grip on her staff. “Maybe they were right about you. Simple killing is a warrior’s job. The true dangers of the Fade are misconceptions, careless trust and pride.”

Neria watched, horrified as Mouse began to stretch, dark purple scale breaking through his skin as he grew in size and girth. Horns and too many eyes.

She was going to die. She couldn’t take on a pride demon by herself on its home turf. She was only an apprentice!

Mouse lunged at her but something jerked her backwards and into blackness.

* * *

She had the faintest feeling she was moving. Her feet dangled over the edge of something. Her face was pressed to cold metal. She was so tired.

_Which bed is Surana’s?_ a familiar voice said from far away. She was set down on something soft, the smell of leather filled her nose and something brushed tenderly against her temple. Neria fought to open one eye as the voice spoke again. The deep dark before dawn’s first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises.

Through the haze of sleep and exhaustion she made out the blurry silver form of templar armor.

And then she drifted back into empty black.


	5. A New Life Awaits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After completing her Harrowing, Surana is pulled into Jowan's panicked scheming.

“Are you alright? Neria, please say something.”

Neria opened one eye and blinked. She was in her bed in the apprentice quarters and Jowan was hovering over her like a panicked nursemaid. She scowled and rolled to sitting, feeling every bruise Valor or Rage had given her. She pressed her hand to her face and found that she was otherwise unharmed.

Only her psyche remembered. It had been real, but not real as non-mages understood it. 

“Jowan?” She gave him a small smile. 

“Maker, I’m glad you’re awake. Rutherford carried you in this morning. I didn’t even realize you’d been gone all night.”

“Cullen?” Neria remembered her faint dream between the Fade and waking. “That figures. Andraste’s ass, I’m so fucking sore.” She twisted to pop her back and then stood, starting to hunt for her hair brush.

“Some apprentices never make it back. Was it really that dangerous?” Jowan pressed.

Neria curled her hand around her hairbrush handle and started to work the tangles out of her thick red hair.

“What was it like?”

She sighed and slumped, turning to face him with a pleading expression. “Jowan, you know I love you but I can’t tell you.”

“Hrmph.” He dropped his gaze to the floor in petulance. “So much for friendship.”

“Jowan.”

“You get to move to the nice mage’s quarters upstairs and I stay here and I don’t know when they’ll call me for my Harrowing.” He crossed his arms are scowled at the floor.

Neria sighed and resumed brushing the tangles out while facing him. For all that she adored Jowan, there were days where she wanted to smack him, and these days tended to line up with the ones on which she had a burgeoning headache.

“They’ll call you when you’re ready. You know that. Should be any day now.”

“Easy for you to say, Neria. I’ve been here longer than you have--”

“By what? A week?” She tugged the brush through one last time and set it on the cabinet.

“I’m serious. I think they just don’t want to test me!”

“That’s insane, Jowan.” Neria started to braid her hair while rolling her eyes at him. He was like this sometimes, paranoid and self-depreciating for no reason. “Everyone goes through the Harrowing.”

“The tranquil don’t.”

Neria’s fingers stopped moving. She stared at him. “Jowan, they’re not going to kill you or make you Tranquil. Where did you even _get_ that idea?”

“I--I shouldn’t waste your time.”

“We’re _friends_ , Jowan.” She said _friends_ like the secret it was and gave him an affectionate smile before she finished braiding her hair, tying it back with a scrap of robe she kept tucked under her pillow. “I always have time for you.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. But I was supposed to tell you to go talk to Irving as soon as you woke up.”

“Ugh,” was her dignified reply. He was _avoiding_ the topic and there was nothing she could do about it. 

“You probably shouldn’t keep him waiting. We can talk later.”

“Ugh.”

Jowan laughed and squeezed her shoulder once fondly before he left the dorm. Neria sighed. She changed into clean robes and found her shoes. Her every muscle protested. She should not have been so sore from a confrontation in _the Fade_.

But it had been real and as an apprentice Spirit Healer (apprentice no longer) her connection to the Fade was strong. 

“Ser Rutherford carried you in last night,” an apprentice snorted while her conversation partner turned to congratulate Neria for passing her Harrowing.

“He was at my Harrowing.” Neria shrugged.

“I heard him say it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he’d ever seen.”

“Of course _he_ would say that about _Neria’s_.”

Neria groaned. “Maker’s breath, would you leave him alone?” She scowled. “And leave _me_ alone while you’re at it. There’s _nothing_ between us.” 

“Yeah but you’ve gotta say that, doncha?” 

“Must have been nice having a _friendly_ face there.”

Neria rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeah. Sure. ‘xcuse me. I’ve gotta go talk with Irving.” She brushed past the other woman and headed upstairs towards Irving’s office.

* * *

She found Cullen stationed near the mage quarters and she made a decision, inspired in part by the fact that the room he was standing beside was going to be _hers_ in a matter of hours. She had survived her Harrowing. They couldn’t make her tranquil any longer. One less thing for the order to hold over her.

She wanted to celebrate.

She wanted to celebrate _very specifically_ and she was going to ride the high of confidence that victory had given her to try and make that happen. The hallway was empty, many mages and more than a few templars having left to join the army at Ostagar. She beamed at Cullen and took his small smile as permission to walk over and actually start a conversation.

“I’m uh, glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly.” Cullen stammered his greeting.

“Is there a reason you’re stammering?”

“I was, they chose me to strike the killing blow if you failed.” Cullen deflated a little. “I’m just, relieved that it didn’t come to that.”

“Would you really have killed me?” She asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it in case she was wrong. She would have liked to be wrong.

“I would have felt _terrible_ about it but,” Cullen looked away and bit down on his lip. “I serve the Chantry and the Maker. I will do as I am commanded.”

It hurt, but it didn’t surprise her. Neria sighed. “That’s, certainly noble of you, and in a strange way I’m grateful you would.” She reached up to stroke the bumps of her braid, starting to second guess her confidence.

“Surana, I’m just,” Cullen’s eyes found her again and his arms uncrossed. She watched them flex, unwittingly inviting, and resisted the urge to step into them. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

“Maker, same. But I’d rather be dead than tranquil or an abomination.” Her eyes flickered up to his and her smile warmed. “So, I need to speak with Irving and then I think Jowan wanted me to meet him but, do you have . . .” she bit down on her lip and took a breath. “Would you like to continue this conversation later?”

“Yes. Of course.” Cullen said almost too quickly.

“I. . .” it was now or never, “I mean in _private_.”

Cullen turned a deep pink and his eyes widened and then dropped to her mouth before quickly jumping back to her eyes. She had never seen him look so nervous or off balance as in that moment. He licked his lips and stammered. “I . . . in private. That would be . . . um, no, no that would be inappropriate. I . . .”

This had all been a terrible mistake. Neria brought her hands up and shook them in front of her. “It’s fine, It’s fine, Cullen.” She repeated. “It was just a thought. Please forget I said anything. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry I just I, I--I should go.”

Go? Neria raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to point out that he was the one stationed in the corridor and that she was leaving anyway, but she thought better of it and dropped her shoulders to sigh, “of course.”

He started to sprint down the hallway Neria consoled herself by dropped her eyes to his ass as it bounced and reflecting again that it was a real shame that templars wore skirts over their trousers.

Cullen slowed to stopping, turned and cleared his throat, blushing to the tips of his round ears. “It’s, uh, it’s your move, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Neria felt a smile break out over her face. She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get right on that. I think I have you this time.”

“You don’t.” He turned and resumed _walking_ away.

Neria sighed and shook her head. “Of course not, Rutherford,” she muttered. If she _had_ him he wouldn’t be leaving.

But it was probably for the best that he was, templar-mage relationships would never end well. It was for the best if neither of them tried to start one.

* * *

She walked into Irving’s study. There was a third man standing with Greagoir and Irving (arguing again, always arguing and yet somehow she knew that they were almost friends). He was tall and dark with armor that marked him as not being a templar (always good) and a pair of weapons on his back.

Cullen had mentioned that the Commander of the Grey was supposed to be visiting the tower looking for recruits. Perhaps that was this man.

Regardless, he was new and after twelve years in the Circle new faces were _always_ worth investigating.

“Your own,” Irving chuckled coldly. “Since when have _you_ felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision where they can actually _use_ their Maker-given powers.”

Neria looked past Irving to the stranger and gave him an apologetic smile. The sort reserved for making amends when family members were making a scene in front of a guest. The stranger returned her smile with one of his own and an accepting shrug of one shoulder.

“How _dare_ you suggest--”

“Gentlemen please,” the stranger interrupted Greagoir. He had a rich voice, richer than Neria would have expected at first. She bit down on a small smile at Greagoir’s instant affront at being cut-off. “Irving, someone is here to see you.” He gestured towards Neria.

“Hello.” Neria gave a very small wave, feeling slightly ridiculous.

“Ah.” Irving beamed at her, radiating pride. “If it isn’t our new sister in the Circle. Come here, Surana.”

“This is--” The stranger started.

“Yes.” Irving confirmed. “This is she.”

Neria frowned and waited for a reason she was being spoken of in the third person as Greagoir excused himself with an oblique warning that he and Irving would continue this later. Irving agreed without turning to address the knight-commander at all.

Their little spats were as familiar to everyone as the tables in the dining hall.

Privately, Neria was certain the old men _enjoyed_ it. 

“Well then,” Irving paused to recollect his train of thoughts. “Where was I. Ah, yes, this is Duncan of the Grey Wardens.” Irving gestured to the man at his side.

Neria smiled and inclined her head. “Pleased to meet you.”

Duncan bowed in response as Irving continued to explain. “You’ve heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect. Duncan is recruiting mages to join the King’s army at Ostagar.”

“Who exactly are we fighting?” Neria tilted her head. “I heard it was Darkspawn but--”

“It is Darkspawn,” Duncan confirmed. “We need all the help we can get. They are amassing an army, if not checked I fear they will bring about another blight.”

Neria’s eyes went wide and Irving clicked his tongue. “Duncan, you’ll worry the poor girl with talk of Blights and Darkspawn. Today is a happy day for her.”

“These are troubled times, Irving.”

“And we should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times.” Irving gave Neria a fond smile. “Your Harrowing is behind you and your phylactery has been sent to Denerim. You, my dear girl, are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi.”

“Thank you, First Enchanter.”

“I’m sorry,” Duncan gave Irving a slightly confused look. “What is this ‘phylactery’, Irving?”

Irving sighed. “Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower and is preserved in special vials.”

“Ah. So they can be hunted if they turn apostate.” Duncan nodded. Neria was pleased at the note of disdain in his voice and nodded her agreement with it, crossing her arms under her breasts and squaring her shoulders.

“We have few options,” Irving explained, again. “The gift of magic is looked on with suspicion and fear we must prove we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly.” Irving looked over at Neria. “And you, Neria Surana, have done this. I present you with your new robes, staff and a ring bearing the circle’s insignia. Wear them proudly.”

“Thank you, First Enchanter.”

“And remember, you can not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not yet gone through it.” Irving narrowed his eyes fondly. “I am talking about your friend Jowan in particular. I know you two have been close since you arrived. Now, take the day to rest or to read, it is yours.”

“I will, thank you.”

“I’ll return to my room,” Duncan said.

“Neria, would you escort Duncan to his rooms. They’re in the guest wing.”

“I . . .” Neria opened her mouth to ask why but closed it again. The tower was a circle and Irving had literally just said where Duncan’s room was. But refusing would have been rude and, the Tower being a circle, escorting him on her way back to the stairs wasn’t exactly out of her way. “Sure. It would be my pleasure.”

“Thank you, Surana. Now. If you’ll both excuse me I have--” Irving sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “--matters to discuss with Greagoir. Maker preserve me.”

“Sorry about them,” Neria said as she stepped into the hallway with Duncan. She folded her hands behind her back and waved discreetly to Cullen as they passed him. “Irving and Greagoir, I mean. They’re like that.”

Duncan chuckled. “I am well aware. And congratulations on passing your Harrowing.”

“Thank you.” She twisted her fingers around each other. “I will say the name is apt.” She grinned at him.

“I gathered as much. Thank you for escorting me.”

She left Duncan in his rooms and turned to head downstairs towards the library when a hand curled around her wrist.

“Jowan?”

Jowan let go of her wrist and gave her a worried look, checking over her shoulder. Neria responded in kind on instinct, nodding once when she saw that there was no one eavesdropping behind him. “I’m glad I caught up with you. Are you done talking with Irving?”

“I think so anyway.”

“I need to talk to you, do you remember what we discussed this morning?”

Neria furrowed her eyebrows. “Naturally. Why are you whispering? We look suspicious.” She reached over and discreetly brushed her knuckles against his, concern lining her face.

“We should go somewhere else.” Jowan’s voice dropped back into a whisper. “I don’t feel safe talking here.”

“You’re starting to worry me, Jowan.”

“I’ve been . . . troubled. I . . . I’ll explain just, come with me. Please.”

She nodded and fell into step beside him, feeling dread grow in her stomach with each step they took until she realized he was leading her to the Chantry. Hidden within the cloister wall, Neria turned, expecting Jowan to explain, but he just kept walking until he ducked into a more secluded prayer corner.

Where a chantry initiate was waiting.

Neria’s heart dropped into her stomach.

“We should be safe here,” Jowan said. He reached over and curled his hand around the initiate's, fingers lacing together and the pang of jealousy (she would never hold hands with her beloved if that was even the right word. And it wasn’t.) in her chest was overridden by blanket concern and fear for Jowan’s safety and common sense.

“In the chapel?” She hissed. “The Templars’ favorite haunt?” Neria planted her face in her hand and sighed. “Alright. What did you need to tell me.”

_Please don’t be what I think it is._

“You remember a few months ago, when I told you I . . . uh . . . met a girl.”

_Andraste’s Cunt._

“This is Lily.”

“An initiate, Jowan? That’s forbidden. More than. . . more than what’s _usually_ forbidden.”

“We know, but . . . we’re in love.”

“Templar levels of Forbidden if not more, Jowan.” Neria gave a frustrated growl and dropped her shoulders. “So, what is this about?”

“Remember I said I didn’t think they wanted to give me my Harrowing?” Jowan asked. Neria watched his thumb brush tenderly over Lily’s knuckle. “I know why. They’re going to make me tranquil. They’ll take everything I am from me. My dreams, hopes, fears, my friendship with you, my, even my love for Lily. All gone.”

“That’s . . . what makes you think they’re going to make you Tranquil?”

“I saw the document on Greagoir’s table,” Lily said. “It authorized the rite on Jowan and Irving had signed it.”

Neria thought about Fennik, who had been lied to but afraid enough of the rite of tranquility to throw himself from a window. She curled her hands to fists and refused to let Jowan go the same way. “Why, though? Why make Jowan Tranquil?”

“There’s . . . a rumor about me,” Jowan dropped his gaze back down to Lily’s hand. “People think I’m a blood mage. They think that making me a circle mage will endanger everyone.”

“People think you are a blood mage?” Neria balked. “That’s insane.”

“I know! But it’s not safe here for me anymore. I need to escape. I need to destroy my phylactery. Without it they can’t track me down and I . . . Neria, I need your help. Lily and I can’t do this on our own.”

“Give us our word that you will help,” Lily met Neria’s eyes levelly, “and we will tell you what we intend.”

Neria stared. She felt the whole world start to crumble under her feet. “Jowan, the last mage they caught trying to escape has been spending the last year in solitary. I don’t want you to end up like him if this fails.”

“Better trapped or dead than Tranquil, Neria. Please.”

“I . . . I need to think.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Her phylactery was already gone. Even if this worked, should her involvement be discovered they would label her a maleficar and kill her.

But she couldn’t abandon Jowan to the rite.

“We’ll be here but, please, hurry.” Jowan begged her. “We haven’t much time.”

Neria forced a smile and a nod, trying to swallow down panic like bile without letting on how terrible she felt. She left the chantry and stared up at the high ceiling. “Maker, why?” She breathed. She needed to confirm that Jowan was marked for tranquility. Maybe she could talk to Irving, maybe she could talk Irving out of it. Or at least then she would know and she could make an informed decision.

She went downstairs to her new quarters and changed into her mage robes while she thought and then she went back to Irving’s office. She knocked on the archway and waited to be acknowledged before approaching him.

“Ah, I trust you saw Duncan back to his quarters?”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad you met him. He’s a most honorable man.”

Neria nodded and fidgeted with the end of her braid. “Yes, I gathered that. He seemed the sort. I, First Enchanter, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Certainly. What’s on your mind?”

Neria tugged on her ribbon, tightening it. “Jowan, Jowan says that he’s going to be made tranquil.”

Irving raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Oh, and how does he know this? I suppose the young initiate he dallies about with revealed it to him.”

Neria sputtered a little. To hear the First Enchanter admit, so casually, that he knew about an affair between an apprentice and an initiate was the final straw in making this the weirdest day of Neria’s 19 years of life. Affairs between mages were one thing, and bad enough if the templars found out, but between . . . did he know about her feelings for Cullen too?

Irving raised a hand to derail her panicked train of thought. “You think I didn’t know? I did not become First Enchanter by keeping my eyes and ears shut.”

None of that mattered, however, in light of the realization that Jowan was, in fact going to be made tranquil. Neria felt tears threaten the corners of her eyes. “Please, First Enchanter, I beg you. You can’t . . . don’t do this to Jowan.”

Irving set a kind hand on her shoulders. “You two are very close, I know. But Greagoir says he has proof, and eyewitness testimony, that Jowan has been practicing blood magic.” Irving pulled away and groaned. “I can not say more. Were it left to me things might be different, but the Chantry--I’m sorry, Neria. This rite of tranquility will happen.”

“Greagoir must be . . . it can’t be true.” Neria swallowed hard. “Jowan and Lily are planning to escape. It can’t be true, Irving. Jowan’s not a blood mage.”

Irving frowned. “How do you know they’re planning to escape. Have they shared their plan with you?”

She shook her head. “They won’t unless I agree to help them.”

“And have you?”

“No, I came to you.” Neria swallowed. “Because I didn’t think it was true. I thought--I remembered Fennik and I didn’t want Jowan to throw everything away because of a lie.” 

Irving sighed. “There is nothing that can be done to stop the rite from being performed on Jowan, and if we reveal Lily’s part in this plot the chantry will claim her innocence unless she is caught in the act. Tell them you’ll help them and when Greagoir and I intercept their escape attempt Lily will be punished as well as Jowan.”

“But--”

“I will not let them punish my apprentice and not their initiate. I can not defend Jowan from this, but I can see to it that the Chantry punishes their own.”

“I . . .” Neria dropped her gaze and her shoulders, feeling her heart break. Today was supposed to be a good day. Today she should have been on top of the world. She was a full fledged mage.

She was a traitor to her best friend.

“I understand, First Enchanter.”

* * *

Neria wondered how often Irving, when he was a younger man, had thought about breaking out of the tower. His additions to Lily and Jowan’s plan had been too immediate to be anything but pre-thought out. The comical image of the First Enchanter doodling escape plans while listening to Knight-Commander Greagoir drone on did little to quell the discomfort in Neria’s stomach.

She stuck the fire rod into the back of the amplifying statue and hated herself as the resulting blast shattered the weak wall between the repository and the phylactery chamber.

“Let’s hurry,” she said, almost hoping that they would have time to escape. “Someone might have heard that.”

“She’s right,” Jowan’s trusting, affirmative smile broke Neria’s heart into a million pieces. “We need to hurry, Lily.”

They fought their way through the sentinels and into the icy repository chamber. Briefly, Neria dreamed about smashing everything, but it wouldn’t do any good. Irving knew she was down here. Any damage to anything but Jowan’s would place the blame directly on her head.

At least one of us won’t remember this, she thought, watching Jowan hunt for his phylactery. The crash was satisfying, she had to admit. She wished her phylactery were here. She could smash it and warn Jowan and Lily. They could escape out the back.

“Are you alright, Neria?” Jowan asked.

She forced a smile but didn’t trust herself to speak. Neria followed them out of the chamber and up the stairs onto the landing. Jowan spun and squeezed her close. Neria thought she was going to start crying again.

“I can’t believe it! Thank you! We could never ha--”

Over Jowan’s shoulder, Neria watched as Greagoir, Irving and two templars stalked into the room. She closed her eyes and pulled away, unable to make eye contact with her friend or the authorities.

“So, what you said was true, Irving.”

“Greagoir.” Lily took a frightened step backwards, her hand reaching for Jowan’s as he turned to put himself between her and the approaching templars.

“An initiate conspiring with a Blood Mage. I’m disappointed in you.” Greagoir said. He studied her face for a moment and then turned to look at Irving. “She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall then. You were right, Irving, the initiate has betrayed us.”

“And this one!” Greagoir pointed a finger threateningly at her. “Newly a mage and already flouting the rules of the Circle.”

“Neria is here on my command, Greagoir.”

Jowan turned and his hurt expression was all that mattered. It drowned out Irving’s defense of her actions to Greagoir and Greagoir’s vehement disagreement. She opened her mouth to apologize but Jowan cut her off.

“I thought you were my friend!” He snapped.

“Enough. As Knight-Commander of the Templars of Kinloch hold I sentence this blood mage to death.” Greagoir directed. “And this initate has scorned the chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”

“The...the mages prison? No, please no.” Lily was backed most of the way down the stairwell, trembling.

Something flashed in Jowan’s hand and Neria had half-a heart beat to wonder where he’d gotten the knife from.

“No! You won’t touch her.” The knife bit into Jowan’s skin and Neria’s eyes widened with fear and disbelief as Jowan’s blood formed a wall and slammed the templars, Irving and Greagoir to the floor.

Neria was speechless. She staggered backwards as Jowan moved towards Lily, now even more afraid of him than she had been of the templars.

“You, you said you never--”

“I dabbled!” Jowan tried to explain. “I thought it would make me a better mage!”

_How did I miss this? How didn’t I know?_ Neria’s heart was racing.

“Blood magic is evil, Jowan,” Lily was almost crying. “It corrupts people. Changes them!”

“I’m going to give it up! All magic! I just want to be with you, please, Lily, come with me!”

_How long? How long has this been happening?_

“I trusted you. I was willing to sacrifice everything for you. I. . . I don’t know who you are, Blood mage. Stay away from me.”

Neria extended a hand to Jowan on instinct as he bolted from the room, her fingers wiggling to call him back. She bit her lip before moving to make sure Irving was alright. Soft green magic flowed from her fingers to brush Irving’s temple and heal the hurt Jowan’s blood magic had inflicted. Around them, the templars began to stir.

“Are you alright?” Irving asked. “Where’s Greagoir?”

“I knew it!” Greagoir answered the question by picking himself up and starting to shout. “And to overcome so many! I never thought him capable of such power.”

“He lied to me,” Neria muttered weakly, for no one’s benefit but her own. “I trusted him. I . . . I knew him.”

“None of us expected this.” Irving leaned on her as he stood. “Are you alright, Greagoir?”

“As well as can be expected, given the circumstances,” Greagoir spat. “If you had let me act sooner this would not have happened. Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down!”

_How many people have I endangered?_ Neria stared down at her feet.

“Where is the girl?” Greagoir whirled around and fixed his wrathful gaze on Lily.

“I’m . . . I’m here, ser.”

“You helped a blood mage! Look at all he’s hurt!” Greagoir gestured to the fallen templars, breathing but injured.

“Lily didn’t know he was a blood mage,” Neria tried to defend.

Lily shook her head. “I don’t need you to defend me.” She swallowed and walked slowly towards Greagoir, fingers coming together in front of her and voice filling with sobs. “Knight-Commander, I, I was wrong. I was the accomplice of a blood mage. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even,” she swallowed. “Even Aeonar.”

“Get her out of my sight! And you,” Greagoir spun on his heel to snap at Neria again. “Breaking into the repository! Some items, some _magic_ is locked away for a reason!”

“Did you take anything important from the repository?” Irving asked. Neria shook her head.

“Your antics,” and here Greagoir made sure to glower at Irving as well, “have made a mockery of this circle. Bah. What are we to do with you.”

“Neria was acting on my--”

“If I may.” Duncan interrupted again and Neria was forced to marvel at how quietly he moved for a man wearing plate. Every head in the room turned to look at the Warden Commander as he strode up. “I’m not only looking for mages to join the King’s army. I’m also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. Irving spoke highly of Neria and I would like her to join the Grey Wardens.”

“She assisted a maleficar,” Greagoir growled, punctuating every word. Neria had never seen him so angry. “Even accidentally! I refuse to let that go unpunished.”

“Greagoir,” Duncan spoke calmly in the face of Greagoir’s rage. “Mages are needed. _She_ is needed. There are worse things in this world than blood mages, you know that. I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions.”

Greagoir growled again, but slumped his shoulders in defeat.

Through the door, Neria could make out other faces drawn towards the commotion like moths. She looked for Cullen, but didn’t see him. She swallowed and turned to look at Duncan. “What now?”

“We will join the King’s army at Ostagar, you will be initiated there. I will explain more when the time comes.” Duncan gave her a small, encouraging smile.

Neria nodded. She opened her mouth to ask Irving to say goodbye to Cullen for her, but thought better of it. She had to pretend that she had no one to say goodbye to. No ties. “Thank you for everything, First Enchanter.”

“Take care of yourself, Neria.”

“Come,” Duncan gestured to the door. “Your new life awaits.”


End file.
